


The Bud In Bloom

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold paid a terrible price to free the woman who was once Belle, but what was between them is gone. Something new must bloom in it's place.</p>
<p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/350740">The Bud in Winter</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bud In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will learn not to let my muses control me. One day.

Gold seldom slept long.

The hospital was too busy, even in the quietest times of the night. Respirators beeped softly, trolley wheels squeaked, nurses did their rounds in the darkness with a glowing pencil torch in their hands. Still, he would always take rest where he could, his eyes closed, until his morning call came.

It was always the same: a patter of light feet on the floor, the rustle of the curtains, the rattle of the blinds, then warming sunlight.

"Morning," Rosie French said happily.

Gold opened his eyes and smiled at her.

Every day for the last month, she was the first face he saw in the morning. The nurses were puzzled by it, but then they didn't know what was between them. What had been between them, in a time she didn't remember, and a time he couldn't forget.

It was nearly two months since Regina's almost fatal assault on him. In the world outside the hospital, the Mayor had been stripped of her position. Sidney Glass had done his best to protect her, providing her with alibis and even claiming responsibility as he always did, but when bloody scraps of burnt designer dresses were recovered, even he had to admit that if he attacked Gold, he didn’t do it while cross-dressing.

The wounds were healing, but some of the damage was permanent. Gold’s voice was unlikely to ever return, and while some sensation had returned to his upper torso and arms, he was resigned to the fact his legs were going to be useless to him.

"Sleep well?" she asked, approaching the bed to raise him into a more upright sitting position.

He shrugged minutely.

She made a face. "Beds in here are crap," she confided, as she leaned around him to arrange his pillows. "Used to sleep on the floor. Softer."

He snorted in amusement, which made her smile in turn.

She was looking a lot healthier, and she had finally started to put on some weight. Where she had been pale, grey-faced and drawn, now, her cheeks were flushed and warm and her eyes were bright again.

"Brought a good breakfast," she continued, pulling the table from the end of the bed and positioning it in front of him. "Found new recipes for waffles." He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, this one is good!" He snorted doubtfully. "You'll still eat it."

She was right, too. 

Anything was better than the slop the hospital tried to serve him. Well, almost. They both agreed that she made a mistake in confusing curry sauce with caramel.

She perched on the bed opposite him, cross-legged, and unpacked the boxes. She served them both portions of the miniature bite-size waffles, adding some fruit and he tried to hide a smile when she checked the sauce before drizzling it onto them.

"Shut up," she said, swatting his knee through the blanket. She rooted through her bag and produced two forks, offering one to him.

It took him two attempts to grip the fork, but she didn't condescend to him and coo at him like the nurses tended to. It was humiliating to be treated like a child doing a clever trick, as if being coddled would help.

"If you don't finish quick," she said with that sun-bright smile, "I'll finish them for you."

She often did too, without thinking about it. Sometimes, she ate as if she was afraid that she would have to go hungry again. He often wondered about her time imprisoned in the lower levels of the hospital. She rarely mentioned it directly, and what he knew, he had gleaned from passing comments she had made.

He carefully skewered a waffle, and she watched him transfer it to his mouth. 

It wasn't because she doubted his ability to do so. It was because she didn't trust herself not to give him food poisoning again. It was only once, and she wasn’t to know that the eggs were bad. Still, he was happy to let her try and regain her confidence. Once, she had been a good cook, and he knew that eventually, she would be again.

The waffles were good, but it took him time to work through his small portion. It was such a delicate process now: move the fork, skewer the food, bring it to the mouth, all while trying to keep his arm from shaking. While he could move again, he was far from capable of moving well.

Rosie made short work of her own food, barely pausing to speak. She finished and trailed her finger through the leftover syrup, casting her eye over his plate. “Is it okay?” she asked, before popping her finger in her mouth to lick it clean.

He managed another tired smile and lowered his chin a fraction. He had learned quickly not to lie about that, even without speaking. The first time he did, she screwed up her face at him, leaned forward and flicked him so hard on the end of the nose that his eyes watered.

She stole one of the sliced strawberries that remained on his plate. He made a stifled sound of protest and she laughed that glorious laugh of hers. “You snooze, you lose,” she said, smiling and lighting up the room anew. She unfolded her legs and slid off the bed. “You want a drink?”

He blinked once. Sometimes, it was easier than nodding, the scars still stretching and painful on his throat.

She dug into her basket again, producing a series of bottles. “The nurses took the good stuff,” she said mournfully. “No champagne for breakfast.”

He chuckled at her expression.

Three bottles were set on the table: one coffee, one fruit juice, one milk. He raised his eyebrows, looking at the third.

“I swear it’s not whitewash this time!” she promised. “Papa says he won’t leave it in the kitchen anymore.”

Still doubtful, he tapped the table in front of the bottle of milky coffee. Even heated up, it was better than anything the nurses would provide. He suspected they were taking advantage of the fact he wouldn’t complain to add choice ingredients to his drinks. Not that a little saliva would cancel any of the deals that any of them made. The shop may be gone, but all the best deals were committed to memory rather than paper.

Rosie trotted out to find a nurse. He continued to labour through the meal she had prepared. It was simple and pleasant, but what made him appreciate it all the more was that she had noticed the difficulties he had with large portions of food, and accordingly ensured that everything on his plate was enough for one mouthful.

Without any effort at all, she had showed him more consideration and attentiveness than any of the medical staff.

She returned moments later, triumphant, with the warmed coffee. It was in a sturdy plastic mug, but sometimes, you had to take what you were given. “Need help?” she asked, offering it to him.

He hesitated. There had been too many accidents and his fork was already trembling too much for his liking. He blinked once, and she smiled, squeezing around the table to sit down on the edge of the bed right beside him. She wrapped one of his hands around the warm mug and supported it as he raised it to drink.

The warmth of her so close against him made his hand tremble a little more, but he knew she would think it was just the strain of holding the cup. He took a couple of mouthfuls, and then moved his finger against hers to indicate enough.

She beamed at him. “You’ve not been sick yet,” she said proudly.

“Yet,” he mouthed back at her, one side of his mouth turning up.

She got up and stuck her tongue out at him. “Grumpy old man.”

He spread his hands as much as he could in a mock-bow and inclined his head.

She flicked a napkin at him and laughed. “Silly grumpy old man,” she corrected, then set to work clearing up the dishes. He watched her fondly, wondering if she realised just how much her presence improved everything about his current confinement.

“I’ll be by later,” she promised, once the table was cleared and she finished licking syrup off her sticky fingers. Her expression was radiant. “Got class today.”

He nodded again, as much as he could, then blinked in surprise when she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“Don’t get in trouble,” she warned, her blue eyes dancing.

He was still staring as she skipped out of the room.

 

_______________________________

 

Rosie was being brave. She was being bold and daring, and she was acting like a normal human being and not doing her homework. 

It was all very new and terrifying, but she was enjoying every minute.

Papa was relieved that she was happier to leave the house now, and she didn’t even need him to drive her to her classes anymore. She learned how to ride a bike again, and went everywhere with her own two wheels.

Sometimes, there was still the fear and the panic, when she caught sight of a strange and dark something or someone out the corner of her eye, and she would shrink into the nearest corner, breathing painfully and frightened, but she would fight it, and get up, and most people didn’t even notice it when it happened.

She tried to read in the diner, because there were people there. It made it easier to be around people, if she made herself do something, instead of waiting for them to grab her and push her into a car, and close her up somewhere awful.

Sometimes, the Sheriff came and sat with her, and they could talk, almost like real people. The Sheriff always asked if she was visiting Mr Gold, and she always said that she was. No one else did, and she knew what it was like to be closed away and alone. The Sheriff didn’t seem to understand that feeling, but Rosie has a suspicion the Sheriff never really needed other people around.

That was something she was learning in her class. Psychology 101 with Doctor Hopper. She was using it to make some sense of her messy, tangled-up brain, and she knew it would help her not to be scared of things on the edge of her mind.

Doctor Hopper was always kind of her, giving her extra books, and talking to her long after the rest of the class left. She wondered if the Sheriff had spoken to him too, because he always asked about her visits to Mr Gold and if she felt it was some kind of gesture.

Rosie had thought long and hard about her visits to the hospital. It wasn’t because she felt she owed Mr Gold, even though she knew she did. It wasn’t because she felt sorry for him. He didn’t feel sorry for himself, so she didn’t see why she should feel sorry for him or treat him carefully. He was a grumpy, lonely man, and he was stuck in a horrible place with no one to speak to him or bother about him, and she knew how that felt. 

It was as simple as that: no one should be left alone.

And he was the only person in town who didn’t look at her like she was broken or treat her like she would crack at the least criticism. The faces he pulled when she fed him curry sauce instead of caramel still made her laugh. He never would know she did it on purpose, just to make him stop moping over a dropped fork.

He couldn’t speak a word, but he was helping her to find her voice again. He was the only person in whole town - aside from papa - who she felt safe talking to. He didn’t interrupt her when she stammered and faltered over a word or look impatient when the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. He would just patiently listen, and then pull the best faces to make her laugh.

She was surprised to find that she liked him, more and more with each visit.

They had a good routine: she would arrive in the morning, and they would have breakfast, then she would go to class or help papa with the flower stand. If she was feeling really brave, she would stay in the diner for the evening rush, but that didn’t happen often. Most evenings, she would slip into the hospital again, just for a little while, and they would play a board game or watch some stupid show on TV, and just be quiet together.

Papa worried, she knew. He thought she was closing herself back into the same place that had been her prison for years, but he didn’t see that it was her choice now. That made all the difference in the world. She could come and go as she pleased, and no one, especially not the Mayor, could close the doors on her again.

She carried a new game through the wards to Mr Gold’s room. He was in the same place as always, but it looked like he’d been washed and changed. She had a feeling that it was better not to ask. Some things were humiliating enough without other people knowing, and bedbaths were one of them.

He offered her a smile. He always smiled so quietly, uncertainly, as if he wasn’t used to doing it. She wished she could have known him more before his voice was gone, so he could tell her why he was always so serious.

“I got a game,” she said, approaching the table. “Just to see if you’re as smart as you think you are.”

His smile widened a bit at that. She’d learned that he liked a challenge, and nowadays, he probably doesn’t get as many of them as he would like.

“It’s a word-game,” she added, as she pulled the table up towards him from the foot of the bed. “Scrabble.” She held up the box, letting him see. He nodded in recognition. “And I’ve been reading dictionaries.”

He rolled his eyes expressively at her, his lips twitching.

“Is that a challenge?”

One thin finger pointed at her, then he made a slicing gesture with his hand across his throat.

Rosie burst out laughing. “Oh, you didn’t!” she said, grinning. “You’re going to regret that, Grumpy.”

He glowered at her, as she opened the box and set out the board on the table. She pretended to ignore him, but couldn’t keep from shooting a mischievous look his way, her mouth curling up in a smile. His nostrils flared, as he tried to keep up the pretence of annoyance, but he failed and huffed as his lips twitched.

She held out the bag of letters. “Pick to start,” she said.

He took a breath, and steadied his hand to reach into the bag. Their fingers brushed against one another, and she saw the way his eyes flicked from her face to her hand and back. He withdrew his hand, a tile between his fingertips, and he smugly displayed the A.

Rosie pulled a face at him. “Just means I get to come from behind,” she said, showing her own D. He inclined his head, his expression doubtful, and she socked him on the knee again, grinning. “Okay, smart-guy. Bring it on.”

 

___________________________________

 

Physiotherapy was a necessary evil.

Gold found it exhausting, but it was gratifying to be able to control the functions of his hands again. It meant that he was able to beat Rosie more completely at her boardgames, because he didn't accidentally disrupt the game with his jerking fingers.

It also meant he was capable of using a computer. It was slow progress, and it still took time, but it meant he could hold conversations with the Rosie using speech software. The first time she heard the robotic voice, she almost laughed herself sick. He promptly typed in a profanity, which made her dissolve into giggles all over again.

He wondered how much progress he would have made if he didn't have her there as encouragement. He still had his own reasons for working towards a state of health that would allow him to leave the hospital, but he knew he was far more motivated by her smile than the need to regain his lost position.

His days were not longer spent in bed all the time. A chair had been set up close to the window. It was a different view, which was something, and made him feel like more than just a prisoner in his ward.

Unfortunately, his new capabilities meant that the Sheriff was more willing to come in to interrogate him again.

He was unsurprised that she didn't trust him with Rosie, but he took it as an insult to the woman in question that Sheriff Swan felt that Rosie couldn't be trusted to make her own decisions. She was an intelligent young woman, and while she did have some lingering trauma from her incarceration, that did not mean she was incapable of deciding anything.

"You should encourage her to meet people outside of this place," Swan suggested. She was sprawled in the other chair, her hands laced together over her belly.

He gazed at her placidly and picked out the words carefully on the keyboard. "Her choice."

"Yeah, and she doesn't feel any obligation because you threw yourself on a grenade for her," Emma snorted. She sat up, propping her elbows on her knees. "What's the deal with this girl, Gold? Why did you do it? You're not exactly famous for your noble gestures or your generosity."

She was trying to rile him to make him give something away. She was just that kind of person. His lips thinned, but he folded his hands in his lap and did not even dignify her with a response. 

"So that's the way you're going to play, huh?"

He extended one hand and tapped several letters. "This is no game."

She winced. "Okay, yeah, bad turn of phrase," she admitted. His lips twitched. Good people were so easy to handle. They could be directed to guilt so easily. She put her head to one side, watching him. "How are you doing, anyway?"

He looked blankly at her. How to answer such an open question. 

Finally, he laid his hands on the keyboard and carefully typed a response. "Been better."

“The doctor said you’re progressing well,” she said, settling back in the chair. “Got to say I did wonder if it would be an improvement on the personality, but I guess some things don’t change, huh?”

He met her eyes and saw the mischief there. His lips twitched and he carefully typed. “We can but hope.”

She grinned at him. It was refreshing to be around people who weren’t afraid of him, for the first time in so many years. The Sheriff didn’t know she was meant to be, and Rosie was never afraid of him, not even then, when he cursed and raged and cast her into a dungeon. 

“You wanna be careful, Gold,” she said, propping one foot against the leg of his table. “You’re cracking jokes. You might scare someone.”

“Who?” He prodded the keyboard carefully. “Not many visit.”

“Hm,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I wonder why. Could it be your charming personality isn’t appealing enough for them?”

He snorted.

“I could unleash Henry on you,” she warned, lacing her hands behind her head. “He’s been going crazy trying to work out who you are in his book ever since you went and pulled a kind-of-hero thing. You messed up his system. I need something for him to do when he’s out of school and I’m working.”

Gold studied her, then tapped the keyboard. “If he wants.”

Emma stared at him. “You’re serious?”

His lips twitched mildly. “I’m not busy.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to, Gold? Pretty young women willingly hanging around your rooms and now, you’re inviting kids. Are you sure you didn’t go for the personality transplant after all?”

He looked at the computer for a long time, then took a breath and typed carefully. “I do not do well within four walls. I need distractions.”

It felt like he was baring more than just his discomfort at his current predicament.

Emma looked at him, and he was grateful that there wasn’t pity in her expression. That would have been too much. Irritation, he could tolerate. Frustration too. Loathing, he was used to. Even amusement was acceptable. But to be pitied, as if he was less than himself. No. That would not do.

“He could come around after school,” she said, lowering her foot from his table leg.

Gold inclined his head. 

“You’re really serious?”

His lips turned up minutely and he tapped some letters. “I may be a little bored.”

Emma grinned. “Okay, then,” she said. “You’ll be invaded as soon as I let him know.”

Gold offered a small smile in return. He found Henry a clever and interesting child, but more than anything, he understood the Sheriff’s concerns regarding Rosie’s tendency to avoid social interaction with anyone but him. While he did not intend to send her away, he was eager to see her reconnect with the world outside his ward.

A child would be harmless enough.

 

_______________________________

 

Rosie was disconcerted when she arrived at the hospital and Mr Gold already had someone in the room with him. From the end of the main ward, she could see the Sheriff sprawled in one of the chairs, relaxed, as if she was completely at ease there.

Her papa always said no one liked being around Mr Gold, but Emma Swan definitely didn’t look uncomfortable there. Rosie was even more puzzled, by the strange, uncomfortable knots that were suddenly twisting up her insides. She liked Mr Gold, but that was no reason to be jealous of him talking to someone else.

All the same, she didn’t dare to interrupt, and cycled all the way home to try not to think about it.

By later-afternoon, she had cleaned the house from top to bottom, and was still adamantly not thinking about anything in particular. Papa came home to find his favourite relaxing shorts on the washing line, even though she wasn’t meant to wash them, and sighed.

“What happened?”

Rosie shrugged. “Cleaning.”

He caught her shoulders and gently sat her down. “Petal, you only clean when you’re worrying about something.”

She frowned at her hands, twisting a cloth between them. “Mr Gold.”

“What about him?”

“Sheriff was there.”

Papa was silent for a while. “Maybe she was just checking on him?” he said. “That’s what Sheriffs do.”

Rosie shrugged, looking at the fabric. “She was laughing.”

“Ah.” She looked up and saw papa’s knowing look. “You don’t want someone else making him laugh?”

Rosie blushed to the tips of her ears. “Papa!”

He smiled crookedly. “Petal, I’ve been wondering for weeks,” he said. “You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?” She ducked her head, but he chucked her chin with a curled finger. “Can’t say I like the miserable bugger,” he said. “But he did good in bringing you home.”

Rosie smiled tentatively. “He doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy,” she confided. “Everyone else acts like I’ll do something weird if they talk to me.”

Her papa leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Just as long as he knows that if he upsets you, by laughing with other people, I’m well within my rights to go and knock seven shades of shit out of him.”

Rosie threw her arms around him and hugged him.

He patted her back fondly. “Now, bugger off back and find out why the Sheriff was there,” he said. “I don’t want to wait for you to get around to ironing my undies again. They’re not meant to get pressed.”

She prodded his nose. “You complain too much.”

“Bloody right I do,” he agreed with a smile. “And be back in time for dinner. We’re having pizza. I don’t want my hard work going cold.”

“Hard work of dialling?”

“Wears me right out,” he agreed, settling down in his large chair in front of the television.

She retrieved the books she had picked out from the library for Gold, arranging them in the basket on the front of her bike with a small box of candied fruit, and set back out to the hospital. It was a route she knew she could do blindfolded.

The nurses nodded to her as she hurried through the wards, but she was in for a second surprise at the sight of a child in the room. She cautiously approached and tapped on the door, wary about entering. She knew he didn’t have a child, so she didn’t know who the boy could be.

“Hi!” The boy beamed at her.

“This is Henry.” The robotic voice from the computer said. Gold looked up at her, and offered her one of his sparing smiles. 

“I’m Sheriff Swan’s son,” Henry said brightly, getting up. “My mom said I should come by and visit because Mr Gold needs more company.”

“Oh.” Rosie hugged the bundle of books against her chest. “Um. I can go.”

“Stay.” Gold was gazing at her and typing blind. “Please.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “Maybe you can help me figure out who Mr Gold is,” he said, motioning her over. He was holding a large book with one arm and propped it open for her to see. “He’s got to be in here somewhere.”

“In a book?” Rosie asked tentatively, approaching him.

Henry nodded again. “Everyone in Storybrooke is,” he said. “The Evil Queen cast a curse on the whole of the Enchanted Forest and everyone in Storybrooke is trapped here instead of happy there. They don’t remember who they are.”

Rosie’s eyebrows rose and she looked at Gold, who nodded with a small smile. The boy wasn’t joking. “I see,” she said, coming over to sit in the vacated chair. Henry perched on the arm, showing her the book. “Who is everyone?”

“Mary Margaret is Snow White,” Henry said at once. “My… other mom, the Mayor, she was the Evil Queen.”

Rosie shivered violently, remembering the dark-haired, dark-eyed Mayor. Even though she was gone now, that was the face that still occasionally glanced into Rosie’s nightmares. Her breath caught when a hand closed on hers. Gold had closed the gap between them, and was squeezing her fingers comfortingly. She smiled shakily at him. 

“Bad Queen. Can see that,” she said in a hoarse voice.

Henry looked at her solemnly, then at Gold. “She did bad things to lots of people.”

Rosie turned a page with her free hand. She didn’t want to take her hand from Gold’s yet. It felt safe to have him there, his fingers warm, dry and just a little bit rough against hers. The pages blurred in front of her eyes, pictures and words.

“Why Storybrooke?” she asked.

Henry shrugged expressively. “It’s just a normal town,” he said. “Just no one here is really who they think they are. Except me and my real mom.”

“Convenient,” Rosie said with a small smile. “So you’re real?”

He nodded again. “I was born in the real world. My mom grew up here. No one else did.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” Rosie countered. “I remember…” She frowned. “I know I came from Australia. My aunt Maureen still lives there.” She looked at Henry in confusion, mentally picking through places, images from her childhood. 

Gold’s fingers slipped from hers and he typed carefully, “Find your feet in the present, then find your past.”

She nodded, turning the pages of the book. “Who do you think Mr Gold is?”

Henry peeked at Gold, then leaned closer. “I thought he was a bad guy for a long time,” he confided in a whisper. “Then everyone was saying that he stopped… her, and they found out what she was doing to people. Now, everyone thinks he’s a hero. Sort of.”

Gold snorted quietly, gazing out of the window.

Rosie glanced at him with a small smile. She knew he had a bad reputation. Plenty of people insisted on telling her about it. One of the first stories she heard was about the time he beat her father up for robbing him. That was how he’d ended up as her Saviour after all. 

“We need to find someone who seems bad, but is really good, then,” she said.

Henry beamed at her. “You’ll help?”

She couldn’t help smiling. Someone who liked stories as much as she did and who didn’t care that she might be crazy? It would be nice to talk to someone like that. “Sure!”

 

_________________________________________________

 

Sometimes, Gold missed the dark quietness of his shop.

The hospital was too large, too bright, too sterile. There was no soul there, and even in the darkest parts of the night, there was always something beeping or whirring or glowing, and people coming and going. He could close his eyes, but that would only make the sound, the constant barrage, all the more noticeable.

It took some persuasion, but finally one of the orderlies was press-ganged into wheeling him down to the small, rarely-used chapel. All hospitals seemed to have them, even in a town like Storybrooke. He supposed it would add realism to the false world they inhabited, if even those little details were correct.

It could hardly have been more different: his shop was filled with his memories, the collection of lifetimes, of deals and bargains. There was a bitterness to the scent of dust and polish, and a secret malicious glee too. But not here. In this place, there was quiet and peace.

Gold gazed around the simple little room. Small pews. Stained glass in the solitary window facing the door. Patches of coloured light on the tiled floor. There was an altar, and a cross, but those meant nothing to him. Instead, he laid his hands in his lap and closed his eyes and let the silence enfold him.

He was a creature of darkness and solitude, in both this world and that. 

And yet, when slim hands were laid on his shoulders from behind, he knew who it was and that she was welcome. This time, he could not and would not drive her away.

“Said they brought you down here,” Rosie murmured. “Praying?”

He shook his head, opening his eyes. He raised one hand to touch his temple.

“Ah,” she murmured. “Thinking. Needed somewhere quiet?” She circled around to sit on the bench nearest him, gazing at him. The light filtering through the stained glass turned her face into a work of art, glowing and radiant. “Missing home?”

He hesitated, then offered her a hand. She laid her hand in his and he turned it palm up, then traced one word onto her palm: Shop.

She looked at their joined hands, then up at his face. “House not a home?”

He shook his head. She understood him too well, sometimes, and he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad.

She turned her hand over in his again, palm to palm, and her small fingers curled around his larger ones. It was such a simple gesture, something a child might offer a parent, but he could not recall the last time someone would hold his hand so willingly. He looked up at her face, so open and accepting, and wondered if she truly understood who she was sitting with.

He drew his fingers from hers and pointed up.

Unlike the orderly, Rosie’s control of the chair was positively gentle. She talked to him happily about meeting up with Henry again, and the fairytales they were researching, in case one of them was him. Or her. They had a theory, she added, that she might be Rapunzel, who was imprisoned in a tower by an evil witch.

Gold snorted in amusement and shook his head, as she wheeled him back into his room.

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any brilliant ideas, smart guy,” she said, arranging him at his computer.

He pulled the keyboard closer and quickly typed, “Too smart for Rapunzel.”

She grinned at that. “Compliments? Who topped up your medication?”

He gave her the look, which she so often gave him: sceptical but amused.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing - or bickering, in truth - over whether Henry’s assessments were correct. While it was technically cheating, given his personal knowledge of the affair, Gold still enjoyed sparring with her over the possibilities of who he might be.

When she departed, resigned to the fact he would never accept she could be Rapunzel - impossible. No one could be half so irritating as the tower-child - she kissed him on the cheek and to his surprise, hugged him.

“Don’t be sad about your shop,” she said. “Things come and go, but at least you’re still here.”

It was almost a comfort, but she couldn’t understand what was lost in that building. Some of it had survived, but he had no doubts that it would be things he cared nothing for. So many fragments of so many lives that held no interest to him once gathered dust on his shelves, but only one precious thing of his own was hidden there.

He knew she saw it in his expression, and she hugged him again.

It was ridiculous to grieve for the cup, but in this place, while he had the company of the girl who was no longer Belle, the simple object that reminded him of who she was would have been a powerful talisman, giving him hope that maybe, one day, he could undo the greatest mistake of his life, and she would understand.

The next morning, for the first time in weeks, she was not there with breakfast. Even the nurses looked surprised, and one of them was kind enough to call and enquire after Miss French. Apparently, she had been caught up in a project, and might not be in until late.

Gold’s heart sank, but he refused to let it show.

Instead, he put his thoughts in order, and practised his typing and hand-eye coordination with the computer for the rest of the morning. His gruelling physiotherapy session in the afternoon lasted some hours, and he pushed himself more than ever. The sooner he was capable of leaving, the better. It was growing tiresome, being left with no one but his own thoughts for company for a large part of the time.

Finally, when Rosie did not appear after the evening meal, he asked again to be taken down to the chapel for some peace from the wretched monitors.

She found him there an hour later, and she was beaming from ear to ear.

He eyed her suspiciously, mouthing, “What?”

She pretended to button her lip, her eyes dancing, and he wondered if it would be fitting to put her across his knee for being such a wicked tease. Of course, that led to more interesting images which he knew would be at the forefront of his mind into the small hours of the night.

All the way back to his room, she didn’t say a word, humming innocently to herself. It was times like this that he really missed being able to speak. Sometimes, demanding an answer was necessary. 

When she wheeled him into the room, he didn’t need to demand anything.

Somehow, goodness only knew how, she had found the cup. He lifted his hand to find hers on his shoulder, and grasped her fingers.

“Papa told me,” she whispered, bending down beside him. Her hair brushed the nape of his neck, and her breath was warm on his skin. “The Mayor wanted it. Papa said it must have been important for you.”

He nodded, squeezing her fingers.

“The Sheriff helped me,” she continued. “Lots of stuff was broken, but that was hidden. In the back wasn’t so badly damaged.”

He lifted her hand clumsily and kissed her knuckles. She giggled and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. 

Damn the curse, he thought, tilting his head and catching her lips with his. 

Her breath caught, dragging his with it, and she pulled back, her eyes wide and astonished, and for a split-second, he almost had a chance to regret it. But then, she was kissing him, and her hands were in his hair and she was wrapped in his arms.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that Moe French was going to kill him.

 

__________________________

 

“Rosie?”

Rosie looked up from her mixing, startled. “Oh! Hello papa.” He was standing at the kitchen door, looking at her with a puzzled expression. “Is something wrong?”

He set down the bags of shopping that he was carrying. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. “You’ve been staring out the window and stirring that bowl for the last ten minutes.” 

Rosie blinked at him, and felt the blush rising up her cheeks. She knew exactly where her thoughts had been and they certainly hadn’t been focused on making the dinner. “Um. I was just thinking.”

“What about?” he asked, as he unpacked the shopping.

She giggled in spite of herself and tried to turn it into a cough. That only made her blush even more. Papa didn’t need to know about what had happened at the hospital, when she gave Mr Gold his cup.

Her father set down the can he was holding and eyed her suspiciously. “Rosie, did something happen?”

She studiously mixed the batter in the bowl. “Just went to the hospital,” she replied. “Mr Gold was happy to get his cup back.” She was amazed the batter wasn’t cooking in the bowl from the heat radiating from her face.

Her father stepped closer and lifted her chin with a fingertip. “How happy?” he asked, frowning.

Rosie bit her lip to stop yet another giggle. It had been happening a lot since Mr Gold kissed her, and as much as she tried not to, every time she thought of his arms around her and his lips against hers, it made her feel all giddy.

“Oh God,” Papa groaned. “Rosie, tell me he didn’t make a move on you.”

“Papa!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

The fact that her face was probably the same colour as the tomatoes on the counter was probably answer enough and she ducked her head. “Um.”

“Rosie, Rosie…” Her father rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Couldn’t you fall for a nice, normal boy? Someone who isn’t violent and dangerous? Why did it have to be the bastard who practically owns us? And while he’s paralysed and mute at that! I thought he would be harmless!”

“He is!” Rosie protested. “He never hurt me!” She pointed her spoon at her father. “You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him! And you said you didn’t mind me liking him!”

“Yes, but that’s before I knew he was making the moves on you!” her father said. “Rosie, petal, he’s not a nice man! Anyone will tell you that.” He swept his hand over his eyes again. “God. Gold. Making eyes at my girl. Bloody hell. I thought he was a poof! He’s never made eyes at any girl in town before, not even Ruby.”

“Papa!” Rosie exclaimed.

He looked her up and down. “You can do so much better, petal. Why him?”

She poked at the batter in the bowl. “He’s kind to me,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t talk down to me or treat me like I need to be back in a mental ward.”

“Other people would too,” Papa said. “If you would just talk to them.”

She put the bowl down. “I can’t,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I try and they stare and I know they’re thinking of where I’ve been.” She took a shaking breath. “And I don’t care if there are better people. I like him. And… and he likes me.”

“I bet he does,” her father said darkly. “Pretty young girl, not very good at mixing with other people, always there to take care of him. He’s got you cooking for him and looking after him, of course he’s a man, so now he just needs someone to fu…”

Rosie’s hand flew of its own accord, catching her father across the face. “What do you take me for?” she demanded, white-faced and trembling. “Do you think I’m that stupid? Do you think I’d let him take advantage?”

Her father stared at her, then breathed in, out. “No, no, of course not, petal,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch her cheek. She jerked back from him, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did,” she said shakily. “You’re as bad as everyone else. Why don’t you trust me to make my own decisions? I know he’s not a nice man and I know everyone hates him, but he has never, ever given me a reason to.”

“Petal…”

Her eyes were stinging and she knew her voice was breaking. “I want some money, papa,” she said, trying her best not to let the tears fall, not yet. “I want to go and stay somewhere else for a little while. I can’t be here now.”

“Rosie!”

“Papa, please,” she whispered. At least one tear was escaping already, running down her cheek in a burning-hot streak. “If you give a damn, please, just let me have some time on my own.”

He stared at her, then nodded, withdrawing his wallet. He handed over his credit card without a second thought. “Granny’s has rooms,” he said quietly. “Tell them there’s a burst water pipe or something, and no one’ll ask any questions.”

She clasped his hand and squeezed his fingers, then fled past him. She only stopped to throw some clothes into a hold-all, before vanishing out into the night.

 

__________________________________________

 

For the second time in as many days, Rosie didn’t come to the hospital for breakfast.

Gold had a pang of momentary doubt, that maybe his forwardness of the previous day had driven her away, but that was ridiculous. She was the one who had all but sat in his lap to kiss him again and again. 

He was still picking at the hospital’s version of a breakfast some half an hour later, when his door flew open. He would never admit it, but his heart leapt, then sank again at the sight of Henry Mills, red-faced and panting.

“You have to come!” he gasped, leaning on the arm of Gold’s chair. “She left her dad!”

Gold frowned, putting the dish aside, tilting his head in wordless inquiry.

“Miss French!” The boy waved urgently at the door. “She’s staying at Granny’s. Ruby said she was crying when she arrived! She hasn’t come out of her room yet! She said it was a burst water pipe at home, but it’s not! She’s upset!”

Gold pushed the table away from himself and nodded, gesturing for Henry to fetch one of the nurses or one of the orderlies. It didn’t matter that no one outside the hospital had seen him since Regina’s assault. What mattered was that Rosie - Belle - was alone again, driven out by her father, and he sure as hell was not going to let that happen again.

In less than half an hour, he looked almost like himself again, if not for the wheelchair, and he and Henry were on their way back to Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. Henry was staring at him anxiously. 

“Why’s she upset?” he asked. “Is her dad mad at her?”

Gold hesitated, then shrugged. He couldn’t be sure whether it was something Moe had said or done, and until he was there, and he knew, he was unwilling to guess. After all, the last time this story had played out, he had truly believed that Sir Maurice would have scourged and flayed his daughter for displeasing him.

As soon as they reached the in, Henry rushed up to the house, while the orderly unfolded the chair and helped Mr Gold into it. It was not an easy path to get up, and there were stairs up to the door which he didn’t want to contemplate, but those didn’t matter when a tiny brunette came hurtling down them and crashed straight into his arms.

She was trembling like a startled bird and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her hot, damp face in his throat. Gold put his arms around her gently, and stroked her hair, trying to soothe her as best he could without words.

A few minutes later, Henry approached them, holding out a sweater for Rosie. He had noticed what Gold had not: the girl was only wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt, probably for sleep, and the morning air was brisk.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the sweater and pulling it over her head. 

Henry smiled at them both. “You’re meant to be together,” he said. “I knew you were.”

Rosie wiped her eyes. As Henry had told him, they were swollen and red-rimmed. “I forgot about breakfast,” she said apologetically.

Gold touched her hand reassuringly, and shook his head. Times like this, that damned computer would have been useful to carry around, but the thing needed a sturdy support and his lap was currently fully occupied. He nodded towards the guesthouse, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Papa,” she said softly. “Said things. Got upset.” She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing his jaw line. “Said things about you. Doesn’t like you. Doesn’t trust you. Thinks you’re some kind of lecherous beast.”

Henry uttered a squeak.

Gold ignored him to stroke a tear from the girl’s cheek. He could see the dried streaks where previous tears had fallen. Gently, he drew her head down and kissed each swollen eyelid, then her brow, and gathered her in his arms, safe and sheltered.

“Seriously?”

Gold neither turned nor looked for the source of the Sheriff’s voice.

“Um. Hi Emma,” Henry said sheepishly.

“You’re meant to be in school, Mister,” she said sternly, catching him by the collar of his coat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He beamed at her. “I was helping Beauty and the Beast get back together.”

The Sheriff looked down at Gold, and the girl in his arms. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Gold, what the hell?”

With his voice gone, his computer inaccessible, one of his arms occupied with Rosie’s waist and all other options of communication out of reach, he gave her an even look, then raised two fingers in a gesture that was suitably offensive. 

“Victory?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes, and altered the gesture to one she might be more familiar with: a single finger raised.

“Ah. Gotcha.” She glanced down the path at the waiting vehicle. “You going somewhere?”

Rosie looked up, alarmed, but Gold simply gestured to her, and she relaxed, nestling against him again, as if she always should have been there. Which, in retrospect, she really should have been.

“Tell you what,” the Sheriff said. “If you’re wanting to hang around out of hospital, but avoid the diner and the gossip, come by Mary Margaret’s. She’s at school, and you guys can have some privacy.”

Gold looked at her in surprise.

Emma raised one hand with a lop-sided smile. “Hey, I’m not saying I approve of you being a dirty old man, but even I can tell she wants to be there, and I’m not about to drag your ass back to the hospital by force.”

“He’s not a dirty old man!” Rosie exclaimed heatedly.

Gold’s lips twitched and he patted her hand, unable to hide his amusement.

Henry tugged on Emma’s arm, his eyes shining. “See?” he whispered so loudly even Gold could hear him. “It’s Beauty and the Beast! He’s not a monster anymore, because of her!”

Gold felt Rosie’s eyes on him. She was speculating, and he glanced at her. She was smart enough to recognise a good story when she saw one, and he had a strange sensation of freefall in his belly when she took his face between her hands and kissed him again.


End file.
